


Got Me Howlin'

by distantstarlight



Series: 221 B Barker Street [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altered Mental States, Dominance, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Sherlock, Pack Dynamics, Rare Pairings, Rough Body Play, Shameless Smut, True Love, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have made a decision and now they're back at Mycroft's to examine the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pups

**Author's Note:**

> It's taken me a while to make progress on this story but not for lack of ideas. In fact I'm almost overwhelmed with them. There's a lot of layers here and I've spent a lot of time tidying and untidying all of it.
> 
> I'm open to comments and suggestions.
> 
> Jan - excited author note - this story just reached 3000 hits. I'm just so pleased! Thank you all for reading and following this series.

Several days had passed since Sherlock and John had bitten and infected Mycroft and Greg. The news of the engagement had been very welcome by the older men even as they struggled to deal with the unexpected change in their lives. Greg had shaken both their hands in congratulations and Mycroft had simply said, “Finally.” After that they'd spent the intervening time trying to explain with words what was going to happen when the full moon rose but Mycroft and Greg simply couldn't understand except in the most technical sense. 

Sherlock was frustrated and John soothed his high strung mate subconsciously. In the last two years Sherlock had quickly gotten used to John translating everything for him unless absolutely necessary. He didn't have time to waste on pedestrian minds and their inability to understand anything at all. John seemed to know how to simplify the world enough that even Anderson could somewhat follow along. This was Mycroft though. If there was anyone in the world that should be able to follow Sherlock's explanations it should have been him.

How did you explain how your nose suddenly smelled in color or that you could see in the dark nearly as well as you could in the day, that everything you took in was measured not just by sight but that your entire body was wired to accept and transmit sensory information on a range so broad that it almost felt like becoming blind when you were human again? You could taste data in the air, understand the change in weather through your fur, hear decibels above and below normal human ranges so that the world became a symphony? Finally though both men had to concede that experience was the only way their pups would ever truly grasp what they meant and simply tried to explain enough so they could prepare time and privacy. Greg was still on medical leave and Mycroft had handed everything over temporarily to Anthea.

Overall the transition was still going well but it was still not perfectly smooth. Greg's overall health had come back almost the first day. Mycroft had to struggle with his normal impassive self control because his animal side had become so much stronger. Greg seemed very comfortable with it. The four of them now stood in Mycroft's luxurious living room. Greg was currently the focus of everyone's attention. John walked up and examined him carefully. He looked into Greg's eyes. He listened to Greg's heart but most importantly John smelled Greg Lestrade carefully.

When the doctor finally stepped away Mycroft's patience finally ended, “Have mercy John! Just spit it out.” Anxious fear rolled off the otherwise impervious looking man. John looked at his pup and sent back waves of calm reassurance. Since he'd been the one to bite Mycroft he felt very protective of him. Sherlock felt the same way about Greg. They each felt the other's connection to their pups since they themselves had been turned by a single shared bite. It made everything a bit odd.

“It's all gone Mycroft. Greg is completely healthy.” Mycroft's only reaction was to blink and tense his jaw. For the wolves though everything about his body and scent shouted out joyous relief and the desire to cry, just a little. Greg was far more demonstrative. He grabbed his tall husband up and tried to eat him alive with a passionate kiss.

“Ugh.” Sherlock turned away. “Is this how they thank us for the gift? By making me nauseated?” John chuckled but was well pleased with the successful transition. Greg's cancer had proved tenacious. Instead of disappearing overnight it lingered for days longer. John checked Greg two or three times a day as it receded. Today there wasn't a hint of that black smell anywhere. Now Greg smelled exultant. He was also becoming aroused. So was Mycroft. The full moon was tomorrow. Their first heat was beginning early.

“Time to go darling. For heaven's sake don't start undressing you two! Let us get out of here.....move Sherlock, before you're scarred for life.” A wave of pheromones filled their noses. Mycroft and Greg were totally ignoring their makers now and clothes were beginning to fly. John had never seen Sherlock move so fast. He raced after his mate before they were both overwhelmed with the sensation of their pups physically uniting.

Sherlock stole Mycroft's car as penance. He drove his doctor back to Baker Street where they firmly locked the door. They'd sent Mrs Hudson away to see her sister as they had done every single full moon since they first realized that Sherlock would go into heat each time. There was no way to hide how loud they got, not that she complained, but the least they could do was not traumatize their landlady with howls. They were grateful they'd sent her early because it would have been very awkward to have her there during an early heat which Mycroft had triggered in his little brother.

John pinned Sherlock to the sofa the second the door to their flat was locked shut. The younger man moaned and shuddered beneath his lover. They could feel the day end and their passions grew. Even after two years it was still startling to feel that wild surge of desire, that incomparable level of intuition and togetherness. They didn't need to think. Their bodies did it all.

Sherlock was still defiant even in his submission. He was a Holmes after all. Sherlock would let John take him any way John chose but on his own terms. Though John had him pinned to the couch the clever detective still managed to squirm and brace himself enough to lift right off the sofa to carry his doctor into their bedroom. Once there Sherlock stripped for John, not being tawdry, just removing his clothes slow enough for his glorious soldier to appreciate each snowy inch of flesh as it became uncovered.

John stood still. There was nothing both of them enjoyed more to start their love play than Sherlock peeling his beloved alpha out of his own clothes. John loved the look in Sherlock's face. He was always so sultry, so sensuous when they were alone with one another. It was so completely different than the icy cold hauteur the rest of the world experienced. John got all the fire for himself.

Sherlock used his mouth as much as he did hands to undo the buttons and fly that kept John's clothes on. Both men groaned as John was slowly revealed, his skin being tasted and nipped by the younger man. “You are so beautiful John. I never get enough of how beautiful you are.” John smiled down at his lover who currently was engrossed in tasting the upper portion of John's arm. Sherlock was so incredibly sensitive. He shivered and moaned nearly as much as John did as he nudged away every centimeter of fabric until both of them were nude.

They'd learned enough to override some of the animalistic drives that overwhelmed them in the beginning. John was a soldier after all and this was just another battle he refused to lose. Sherlock was a Holmes and he would have balked at giving in to instinctive urges naturally. Though John and Sherlock shared their thoughts and feelings there were still parts of themselves that remained exclusive. This bothered Sherlock a lot in the beginning until he finally understood that this was the parts of themselves that were definitely Sherlock and the parts of themselves that were entirely John. There was nothing wrong with their bond. They were two different animals and it was perfectly perfect.

Like the games. Sherlock finally figured out how John masked his preparations. John didn't want Sherlock to know about it so Sherlock knew nothing. It was literally that simple. Sherlock didn't seem to be able to hide anything the same way as John but perhaps that was because he was an omega. As alpha John would sometimes need to conceal information just to keep his mate or pack safe. Sherlock would not so he didn't need the same ability to hide from John. This disturbed Sherlock mightily when he worked it out a couple of days ago after carefully delving Mother's memories, most of which were still a mystery. Then it didn't seem to trouble him anymore.

“I trust you John. I love you. You love me. I know it. If you need to keep something from me it's always going to be for my own good. I know and accept it. Besides, I have yet to be unhappy with your little secrets.” Sherlock hadn't actually said anything. He'd felt it and showed it in a million tiny ways. He loved John with all of himself, in a way he never would have been able to before they were turned. Becoming a wolf had liberated Sherlock Holmes. Now he used this to assure John of his continuing affections every chance he had.

John's previous lovers had often felt suffocated by the amount attention he was prepared to pay them. They felt stifled by John's desire to care for them, to do things for them, to just be there all the time. Most of the women John had dated were strong willed and independent because John appreciated intelligence and backbone. Unfortunately the kind of women that filled those attractive characteristics being cared for by someone just wasn't what they were looking for. They could look after themselves and took pride in it. Now John had perfection in the form of Sherlock.

Now John could see every part of Sherlock without filters and John adored it. Sherlock was an astoundingly complex person. He was relentless in his pursuit of knowledge, unconcerned about his transport which he still barely cared for. Now after the change Sherlock often lost himself in thought for days as he applied his new perceptions to his existing knowledge. While he was wandering his mind palace John would be in the background providing unobtrusive cups of tea. Sherlock blossomed under the steady diet of unadulterated appreciation. John never got tired of loving Sherlock freely and Sherlock never got tired of being the center of John's universe.

Sherlock had been starved for positive attention most of his life. Now he basked in it. He would do absolutely anything to earn more and John was a never ending source of it. They were perfect for one another. Sherlock was completely incapable of looking after himself and John loved to tend to him. John couldn't dote on his lover enough and Sherlock was always so happy to be doted on. It made both of them feel special and loved. Oh how they loved one another.

There were times when Sherlock would become aware again and simply stalk John through the flat. Whatever task John was engaged in would be hastily abandoned as Sherlock switched gears without warning. John looked forward to feeling those long arms wrap around him unexpectedly, feel those warm soft lips kissing their way into this clothes until they entirely gone. When Sherlock and John made love it was always wild and filled with passionate intimacy. When Sherlock was in heat that love became feral and demanding. John had already stocked the medical kit with extra salves and bandages for both of them. Though they'd heal quick enough there would still be a lot of wounds to be careful of until their accelerated immune system made them vanish.

Sherlock also had an oral fixation. That had been a very pleasant discovery for John to make. John had never gotten so much head in his life. Sherlock had the entire process down to a science and could drag it out for hours if he chose or end it in seconds if that's what he wished. It was almost like when they fucked as wolves. Sherlock would orgasm the entire time he was knotted but he had total control over John for the duration and could milk John of every drop of seed for as long as the knot held tight. When they were human Sherlock's control of John was nearly as complete when his mouth swallowed his lover down to the root.

It was that push and pull of control, the never ending fight to define their boundaries that made their lives so perfect. John was alpha but he wanted to give his mate anything he wanted. Sherlock was omega but wanted to make sure his beloved was challenged with unending demands. Their love was a harmonious battlefield. The degrees of perfection were endless.

There was only so much time though before the heat was upon them and all finesse went out the window. When it struck Sherlock there was no more teasing, no more prolonging anything. Sherlock would get to his hands and knees and demand satisfaction. John was always more than happy to oblige.

They'd discovered that Sherlock could get away with no preparation when he was in heat. It would hurt, sometimes even bleed but he'd heal in a few short seconds and the razor sharp sting of pain would make him groan with dark delight. John absolutely loved it. He looked down at his mate, currently on his knees with head bobbing rhythmically and saw the heat overtake him.

Sherlock's eyes shone. The blue green disappeared and left a mirrored surface flecked with gold behind. He pulled off of John's cock with an obscene pop and licked his full lips hungrily. While the younger man crawled deliberately to the center of the bed John hurriedly slicked himself with copious amounts of lube. The scent coming from Sherlock was heady and was filling John's head with the irresistible urge to just take.

John got to his knees and rudely knocked Sherlock's long legs wider to make it easier. The long lean man moaned and arched his back, rutting back eagerly. John couldn't resist and leaned down to bit Sherlock's ass hard enough to leave bloody teethmarks behind. Both men snarled and grew harder. Sherlock loved to be marked and John loved to mark him.

John positioned himself and gripped Sherlock's hips. It was the only warning the soldier gave his lover before he rudely shoved himself inward. They howled together. When John was buried as deep as he could go he rocked his hips to force himself even deeper. Sherlock moaned long and deeply. John growled deep in his chest.

Pulling back slowly was the last slight tenderness that John showed. Sherlock yipped when his lover began to snap his hips roughly, pounding relentlessly inward. John dominated Sherlock ruthlessly, shoving the taller man face down onto the mattress to savage the back of his neck while he lay on him. John's hips never ceased their invasion and retreat. He felt himself enter and reenter his mate, felt the glow of satisfaction that he was making the gorgeous creature beneath him clearly his. No one would ever enjoy Sherlock this way. Only John.

Sherlock's hand slipped back and somehow he managed to claw at John's ass. John could smell blood and he became even more savage. He yanked himself out of the man beneath him to make him yelp again before flipping him over and shoving his cock deep once more. Sherlock snarled and rocked his hips to increase the pace. When John wasn't responding instantly the way Sherlock wanted there was another brief power struggle and their position changed yet again.

Now Sherlock was riding John, both men face to face. Sherlock's hips moved fluidly over his mate, impaling himself as fast as he could move his glorious body. John was in heaven. He lay back and let his lover ravage himself above him. He groaned in painful ecstasy when Sherlock's nails raked down his chest, leaving bloody furrows behind. 

John retaliated by yanking Sherlock flat against his chest and raking his own nails down the detective's porcelain back to leave a matching set behind. He also set his feet hard into the mattress and began to thrust upwards at a punishing pace. Sherlock threw his head back and gasped. Oh he was so beautiful like this. His skin glowed white and his silver eyes caught the light. His hair was shaggier than normal and his curls bounced and waved wildly.

“My king!” said Sherlock's thoughts before everything whited out and both of them were lost together on a typhoon of rampant pleasure. Their every rational thought was displaced by the maelstrom of pure orgasmic bliss as they fell apart together. Dimly they could hear their throats emit the weirdly harmonic howls as they came. Overwhelmed at last both men slumped to the bed to pant and sweat together.


	2. Mycroft and Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happened - Greg is healthy and what better way is there to celebrate, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally write for MyStrade but their chemistry is undeniable and the addition of this couple next to JohnLock is almost necessary.

Mycroft was weak with relief. He let his Gregory kiss him as passionately as he wanted and for once didn't try to maintain even a shred of pretense about how it affected him. He was so grateful, so very grateful that his wonderful Gregory was healed, that he wouldn't have to be parted from the one person who kept him sane in a world filled with endless intrigue and betrayal. Greg rutted hard against him and Mycroft gave in further.

He heard John and Sherlock leaving and didn't care. All Mycroft cared about was that for the first time in weeks his husband was hale and hearty, that for the first time in a long time they were together alone and worry free. All he cared about was his Gregory and for the first time that fact didn't disturb him. “Myc you smell so fucking good.” No it was Gregory who smelled divine. Mycroft pulled away from their enthusiastic kiss only long enough to tug his lover's shirt away at last and to rid himself of the last scraps of clothing that kept them apart.

They'd made it to the bedroom at least. With a laugh Greg picked Mycroft up and tossed him to the center. He was always so lusty and bold. He wanted what he wanted and made Mycroft want it with him. They rarely had time to make love. Most of their intimate encounters were fitted in between their various responsibilities. Both their lives were full and busy. When Greg fell ill they stopped entirely and both of them missed it. The last few days had been spent making that missed time up but tonight was different.

Greg looked at his husband hungrily. He loved the tall pragmatic man fiercely. People called Mycroft the Ice Man but Greg knew there were all sorts of fires behind that carefully cultivated mask. After six years of marriage he knew the devious civil servant very well. Now though. It was all so different. Now Greg could smell everything about Mycroft and it made him insane with lust. Mycroft had started smelling delicious in the last two days and just a short time ago that elusive scent had become explosive.

Without pausing for thought the silver haired DI ran his nose all over his husband's body. Mycroft was beautiful. He had that lone lanky Holmes body but where Sherlock was dark Mycroft was fair. Though Sherlock twitted Mycroft about his weight he really only had a soft belly and that wickedly plump Holmes arse. Greg loved that soft stomach as much as he loved that ass. He loved to rub his cock over that tender belly, stroke it, grip it tight when he fucked Myc hard.

Mycroft was a master of control. His job demanded it. He could present any face necessary in any given situation in the blink of an eye. He stayed behind the scenes and manipulated governments and countries with almost unholy ease. What he couldn't do was control his mouth from making the most amazing array of sounds as Gregory employed his most devastating weapon. His tongue.

Greg loved to unravel his husband this way. He loved making Mycroft give up the control he wielded nearly every second of his existence. When he first discovered how Mycroft reacted to being licked he was filled with wicked glee. It was always enjoyable. Greg loved to do it. Mycroft was delicate and tender all over, his long narrow body covered in a thin soft layer of muscle. Deceptively soft. Mycroft was as dangerous as the most hardened warrior even if he looked like carrying his umbrella would break his wrists. It was all part of his disguise.

Greg loved to lap his way all over that nearly flawless skin. There were smatterings of freckles here and there, a small patch of auburn chest hair and Mycroft's carefully tended pubic hair. His skin was smooth and buttery, pale as milk and tasted like concentrated sin. Tonight Greg could smell every wicked thing about his deceptive husband. He could practically taste the sneakiness. Perfect.

Suddenly it was upon them. John and Sherlock had tried to explain what a heat was like, tried to describe what becoming a wolf would be like tomorrow but it paled in comparison. Suddenly Mycroft seemed to glow and when Greg looked into his face he saw Mycroft's eyes change as the heat took him. Suddenly they went from being a smoky gray to being shining silver. Sherlock and Mycroft both had colored flecks in their eyes and now those colors became gold. It was stunning. They wouldn't completely change until the next evening but tonight was enough of a taste of things to come.

Mycroft was in intense heat right now. John's venom was incredibly potent and Sherlock determined that the alpha had inadvertently created a stronger than average pup when he bit Mycroft. Mycroft was developing into a wolf slightly faster than Greg. Sherlock had tried to explain and then had given up. “You'll know soon enough. You'll be fine.” he had shrugged. The only way to learn was to do just as John and Sherlock had done. At least Mycroft and Greg had some forewarning. When they were wolves Sherlock would be able to explain everything with comparative ease.

Astounded Greg watched as his husband quickly got to his hands and knees. Grabbing the lube from their drawer Greg slicked himself up and without another thought simply shoved his thick cock deep inside. He dimly heard Mycroft's long low moan. It sounded eerie and strange, like nothing Greg had heard before. He vaguely recognized that his husband must be in some degree of discomfort because Greg was quite large and it usually took a bit of effort to enter but he was already bucking recklessly and Mycroft wasn't pulling away. He certainly didn't seem distressed. In fact he was rearing back and fucking growling! Greg had never been so turned on his his life.

Mycroft had spent his entire adult life learning to manipulate and bend people to his will and he had ruthlessly used his body to gain whatever edge that his mind could not. He was unashamed of this fact, his flesh was a tool to be used just like his brain was. Gregory was the one who had showed him that making love for love's sake was a rare delicacy to be treasured and savored. How they did that had endless permutations. Right now Mycroft was dazed with lust. When the heat washed over him all his careful controls had evaporated. He wanted one thing and one thing only. Gregory. 

Mycroft liked to think he wasn't a slave to his biology. That was uncivilized. He could take and leave lovers without thought until he slept with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. The older man with his enticing silver hair and that rugged hard body was too delicious a combination to resist. Mycroft had done it on a whim. He'd had a free evening and it seemed entertaining to seduce the older man just to seek some relief. That first time had shifted Mycroft's entire sexual paradigm so severely that now only Gregory could sate him. After that initial invitation had been extended Greg had simply taken over and fucked Mycroft so hard he'd had a difficult time walking with any sort of grace for three days. 

Mycroft ended all his casual affairs soon after. He wanted to focus on his new and oh so rude lover. Gregory's hard flesh was riddled with scars and if there was one thing Mycroft had in common with his little brother was his appreciation for a gorgeous mar. Gregory was coarse and rough but devoted and loyal. In his own way, Mycroft was as much an addict as Sherlock. He instantly craved Gregory like Sherlock used to crave drugs. Tonight that craving tipped right into being the full-blown addiction it had nearly been all this time.

“Take me!” Mycroft's body shouted as his mouth snarled. Gregory did not disappoint. He never did. Mycroft moaned with satisfaction when he felt his husband's hands on his hips, felt that hard heavy weight of Gregory's unbelievably thick cock begin to push inward. The pain and pleasure was so severe Mycroft could almost feel reality bending around them. He wasn't sure if he could handle the intensity of the sensations that raged through him.

Gregory bit him. Suddenly and with no warning Greg's teeth were at the base of Mycroft's neck and the world went white. It had only been a minute since Mycroft had been taken but both of them were shouting. Mycroft experienced a jolt of pleasure so extreme he collapsed onto his belly to spasm helplessly beneath the large heavy man. Gregory pumped his hips only a couple more times before he was shaking and groaning behind Mycroft, emptying himself deep inside his husband.

They lay there shaking and panting. The thick fog of passion dissipated slowly and both men were able to think clearer. Finally Gregory laughed. “So this is how Sherlock lost his virginity. Wow.” Mycroft winced. The last image he'd wanted after such satisfying encounter was that of his little brother getting reamed by Doctor Watson. There was only one cure for it. He needed to fuck Gregory again. Rolling himself onto that craggy chest Mycroft silenced his husband in the best of ways.


	3. John and Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure smutty sex-o-rama. They go at it like animals. Of course they do!

John lay beside his weary lover, both of them glowing with post-orgasmic bliss. They giggled together and held hands loosely. They'd have a period of recovery time now and after collecting themselves they tottered to the kitchen for tea and sandwiches. They'd need all the fuel they could consume when Sherlock's next wave hit him. They'd gotten more intense with time. The waves would come and go at their own pace for the next three days. At the height of the full moon would be the only time they couldn't shift back into human form but using the time to fuck like animals had it's own particular rewards.

Once they'd eaten their light meal they took a quick shower. They had just finished drying off when Sherlock's eyes silvered again. “John.” he growled deeply. John's lip curled, displaying his currently blunt teeth. In a blink those teeth were latched onto that ivory column of neck, making the younger man groan contentedly. Shoving hard John pushed Sherlock back into the bedroom once more.

This time Sherlock climbed onto John immediately. Barely giving the doctor enough leeway to lubricate himself Sherlock was pushing down and filling himself with that satisfying hardness. “You love that don't you. You turn into a little slut, cock hungry and needy. You love it.” John was rarely crude.

Sherlock nearly came. His head fell back and he rode with increased abandon. He did love it, loved the curve of John's cock, loved the heat of it, loved how hard he became, how deep he plunged. John knew exactly when to swivel his hips just right and when to keep his thrusts even and powerful. Sherlock grazed his hands over his own chest invitingly and John began to stroke and pinch Sherlock's nipples until they were stiff and aching. “Yes John,” he moaned, “more. Please, more.”

John became cruel. He twisted Sherlock's nipples hard. Rough pinches made their way all over Sherlock's torso along with long bloody scratches. Sherlock moaned and threw his head back again. The more it hurt the more he loved it. Most of the marks faded almost instantly but some of the scratches lingered so that John could scratch over them a second time, making Sherlock shudder and buck.

John dropped his hands and filled them with the luscious expanse of Sherlock's ass. Letting go John slapped one cheek hard. Sherlock yelped and the pre-cum from his cock began to drip steadily. “Oh my little slut likes being spanked. Off you go little slut. Turn around. I want to see that pretty ass of yours as you fuck yourself on me.”

Sherlock pulled himself off John immediately to reposition himself. John held himself for Sherlock and both men groaned as he slid back down. “So good John. Your cock always feels so good.” Sherlock rocked his hips for a minute, swirling them around before resuming his ride. John pushed him forward so Sherlock was braced on his thighs. He slapped one smooth cheek hard enough to leave a bright red hand print. 

Sherlock clenched down and groaned. John struck the other cheek and Sherlock groaned deeply again. He was moving roughly now, as if he couldn't quite make his body do what it was doing. John smiled to himself and began thrusting hard once more. Two more harsh slaps and Sherlock's entire behind was a glorious red. “John! Oh John! I'm so close!” That's all John needed to hear before he began hammering upward. He gripped Sherlock's hips savagely and both of them released their howls even as their seed rushed from their bodies. John hadn't needed to touch Sherlock's cock even once.


	4. First Full Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets a raw deal a lot of the time. I threw him a bone.

The next morning Mycroft woke underneath Gregory. He felt sore, bruised, worn out and magnificent. He tried to think back on the night previous as his body woke up slowly. It was all rather hazy after the first wave. They'd taken John's advice and quickly gulped down some food when the madness had ebbed but the vast majority of the night seemed to consist of Gregory savagely fucking Mycroft in every way imaginable.

He felt Gregory wake up. He was super aware of his husband in a way he'd never been before. It was very late in the afternoon. They had fucked until well past dawn before collapsing together, Gregory still mounted on Mycroft. They were uncomfortably sticky and the room held the powerful aroma of sex. “I've got to piss.” grouched Gregory. Mycroft almost tittered. He never got bored or offended with Gregory's rough language. He was brutally honest and so straightforward. He was captivating.

Gregory peeled himself off of Mycroft. They could practically hear their bodies separating, the sweat and come making an organic glue that had kept them together. “Fuck Myc. Are you attached to the bed too? Come on babe, let's get you sorted.” Gregory probably did really need to go to the lavatory but he solicitously helped Mycroft peel the sheets off of his privates. The sheets were incredibly sticky in a surprising number of places. How many times had they had sex?

Bathroom needs attended to both men climbed into the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Mycroft carefully sponged his tender skin clean. It was truly remarkable how stubborn semen was to wash off. Greg had to wash Mycroft's behind for a bit before they were both satisfied with the degree of cleanliness. Mycroft was fastidious and while Greg didn't mind being a mess more often than not Mycroft preferred to be neat and tidy.

“No suits today babe. You love those fucking things and I don't want you to be pissed after because I've ripped them off you.” Mycroft rolled his eyes but smiled to himself. He loved how coarse his husband was. A life of constant diplomacy would be unbearable without some kind of way to let of steam. Gregory was a master at letting off steam. That he had made it as far as he had in the job that he did without an ulcer was testament to how good he was at letting go.

Mycroft felt as thoroughly fucked this morning as he had that first morning he'd woken startled and amazed with Gregory. That man had his own special way of simply ripping away Mycroft's carefully constructed masks to partake of everything hidden beneath. Mycroft lusted for his DI. Their relationship had deepened quickly for two men with such disparate lives.

Gregory didn't criticize Mycroft's past or methods. He didn't offer guilt for Mycroft's late nights or frequent absences. He didn't object when their personal lives became compromised for the good of the country. If Mycroft needed to get into a strange bed to save lives then Gregory was completely prepared to run his husband a nice bath afterward and share a potent drink to take the edge off. He was that incredible. Yet when Mycroft was home all alone with his Gregory, he was shown in lecherous detail how very much he was truly desired as an individual and that Gregory needed absolutely nothing in return. Work was business but home was love.

Greg also loved to cook for Myc. Now he made his uptight husband get dressed in pajamas, ignoring Mycroft's almost silent complaint that he looked like Sherlock and John who seemed to spend more time in their sleepwear than anything. Mycroft liked to look like he was just about to leave for the opera at all times unless he was actually in bed. Making him sit at the table wearing a robe and slippers made Greg snicker.

Myc was always concerned about his appearance. While Sherlock couldn't seem to keep a spare pound on him Mycroft complained endlessly that he seemed to gain all the weight Sherlock had rightly earned by eating anything that came near his mouth. Greg had quickly learned how to prepare healthy but sturdy meals to tempt his high maintenance husband into eating. It was always a challenge but that's what Greg loved about it. The struggle was part of the price you paid to be with a Holmes. Look at John. He went through hell and back dealing with Sherlock.

The meal Greg made was heavy in carbohydrates and Mycroft cringed. Without turning to face him Greg just said, “This will be probably the only big meal we eat for the next two days. We'll be god damned wolves Mycroft! John said we'd be having sex every moment we're awake so believe me, you'll burn off all these calories and more. I kind of like the idea of marathon sex so I don't want you passing out while I'm trying my new wolf moves out on you.” Well since he put it that way.

Greg chopped and sliced. “Imagine how strange it must have been to change into wolves and not know what was happening. I mean, we know what's going to happen, sort of. Funny, I don't feel anxious or anything. You'd think I'd be all worked up about it.” Mycroft thought about that.

“I myself seem to harbor no discomfort at the idea. I wonder if that's part of the transition. It wouldn't help matters if people making the change panicked and let their condition be known to everyone within ear shot. I feel very comfortable despite the fact that my bottom feels like it's going to drop right off.” Gregory had the most amazing laugh. It was full of vitality and richness. He stopped cooking for a minute to come over. Mycroft's eyes slid shut as his husband kissed him with overwhelming gentleness and adoration. Their eyes met and Gregory simply went back to cooking. Mycroft grinned.

Though he'd said he wouldn't Mycroft took a minute to contact Anthea. She assured him that all their various projects were stable and that his presence was not required for the next week. She was more than capable of dealing with everything. Mycroft had been assiduously training her as his replacement for years. It would do the country good to be under the direction of a keen and driven mind like hers. After he hung up Greg took the phone from him, shut it off and stuffed it in with the spoons. Mycroft didn't object. He'd done that once only to find his mobile being shoved down the food disposal. Recapturing all that vital data had been tricky but not as tricky as getting Greg to soften his anger towards Mycroft. It had taken days but the lesson was learned. Their rare private time at home was sacred.

To apologize Mycroft got out some bottles of particularly fine wine to go with the meal. Greg cut his eyes at the obvious bribe but allowed Mycroft to brush up against him. A brief caress against his behind let Mycroft know he was forgiven. They enjoyed the food together, drank their way through two bottles and made their way back to the bedroom. It was getting late.

One of Gregory's many hidden qualities was his love of dance. When the door shut to their private chamber Gregory pulled his tall husband close and danced him slowly back and forth across the deep carpeting. Mycroft smiled down, enjoying the give and take of it, how fluid and graceful Gregory was, how lithe. For someone as common born as Gregory Lestrade there was a fine sensibility about him, an easy appreciation for things normally out of the sphere of interest of someone who worked as a Detective Inspector. Greg loved good music, fine wines, museums and galleries of nearly any description and walks in the rain. He had a romantic soul and the body of a prize fighter.

“Let's get beautiful beautiful. I'd hate for your fur to come out like Sherlock's.” they laughed and went back to the bathroom to shave and comb themselves tidy. Gregory inspected Mycroft carefully, arranging his hair until it was in absolute order. Greg's hair was hopelessly regimental. He kept it nearly as short as John did. It didn't need styling or combing. It stayed exactly the way it looked, even seconds out of the shower. When they were done they stripped down to their skins and resumed dancing.

Night fell quickly. They danced and kissed their way through the bedroom. “I love you Mycroft. Always will.” Gregory never had trouble speaking of his feelings. For him it was just part of life no different than all the other urges his existence was made up of. Mycroft suspected that becoming a wolf was a fitting way for his husband to finally express the barely contained animal already in him. Gregory kissed Mycroft along his jaw until he reached his mouth. They shared an achingly tender kiss with one another. Mycroft could feel the deep affection from his husband.

“I love you Gregory, more than I ever thought I'd get to love another person. I hope you still love me when you can read me like a book.” That little anxiety had fluttered around inside Mycroft and escaped out his mouth. Greg just looked up at the tall pale man in his arms.

“You're mine Mycroft. I married you knowing full well what kind of life you have. There's no getting out of this, especially after tonight. I look forward to claiming you all over again. Your filthy little secrets might earn you an extra fuck here or there but they will never make me stop loving you. You're too naughty to give up.” Mycroft felt a bit more assured after that rather blunt statement. Gregory had never lied to Mycroft. He meant what he said. Soon Mycroft would never again have to worry about his lover misunderstanding his silences. Gregory would know all and Mycroft was surprisingly alright with that. After all, Mycroft wasn't the only one with filthy little secrets. That's what made Gregory such a good match for him.

Greg looked up at Mycroft and could begin to feel the change in how he perceived the secretive man he had wed so eagerly. There wasn't a facet of human depravity that Mycroft wasn't intimately familiar with either for work or for his own rather exotic pleasure. Sherlock and John often lamented their combined darkness but even together both of them could not match the almost evil enjoyment the soft seeming professional took out of his devious life. Suddenly Greg could feel more and more emotions radiating from his husband and all of it amazed him.

Mycroft was decent enough in his own way. He looked after his little brother. He kept to the rules rigorously but only if there were clear rules to follow. If not then Mycroft knew every sort of way to get what he needed in any situation and he was entirely ruthless when employing his assets in his favor be they material or human. He was astonishingly brilliant and was willing to take any steps necessary even at great personal cost to see his goals were met. He was more of a machine than Sherlock could ever hope to be. It turned Greg on so much.

For as cold and heartless as he could be in the world when it was just the two of them alone Mycroft was romantic and gentle. He was passionate and committed to making Greg understand how valued he was, how appreciated he was, and how incredibly sexy he was. Greg was constantly showered with small little gifts and luxuries, nothing too extravagant, just small little things to make Greg smile. A flower secreted into his desk drawer, a new watch when Greg lost his during a chase, or the time Mycroft had Greg's favorite pair of shoes resoled because he knew his husband was sentimental about them. Their mouths met and their kiss was filled with all the dark passion they felt for one another.

Moonlight. Their kiss became awkward. There seemed to be more teeth and their lips no longer met easily. Their arms scrabbled at one another, trying to maintain their embrace but soon they needed to fall to all fours. They knew what was happening and even though it was the strangest experience they could have imagined they felt no panic. Their bodies shook and suddenly the change occurred.

Mycroft looked over. He wanted to pant. In front of him was the most magnificent wolf he could ever have imagined. Gregory was broad and tall, heavily muscled and covered with silver fur tipped with black. His eyes were mossy green and they shone in the night. “Myc you are so fucking gorgeous.” Somehow Greg's wolf body had shifted and Mycroft understood what he had said without saying a thing. They turned to the large mirror they'd had installed for this very reason.

Mycroft was as tall as Greg but long and lean. His elegantly lush fur was reddish from nose to tail except for a tip of white which looked remarkably like the tip of black on Greg's tail. He liked that, even though it revealed the secret he had paid many a private hairdresser to conceal. His own eyes were silver and gold, just like his brother's. Mycroft inspected himself. He was definitely a wolf but he looked foxy. He grinned toothily and his husband grinned with him. “Gorgeous.”

They raced around the house together, snapping at each other's tails and jumping over expensive furniture before tumbling back into the bedroom, exultant and happy. Their bodies moved easily and it felt right to run. It was almost effortless and Mycroft knew they could run for hours if necessary. Their bodies were made to move. They played joyfully until suddenly Greg suddenly challenged Mycroft with bared teeth and Mycroft snapped back harshly. The resultant fight for dominance was vicious and quick. Blood and fur flew as their savage snarls filled the air. Eventually Mycroft lay panting with Greg's jaws closing hard around his neck. It wasn't until he was nearly blacking out that Mycroft finally yielded. “Yours.” he whispered as he went limp.

“Mine.” snarled Greg who began rubbing himself all over the slender wolf beneath him. Instinct took over then and Mycroft howled as his husband claimed all of him brutally. Greg was only vaguely aware of the body beneath him, aware of his paws gripping that thick fur to hold him close. He was intensely aware of how sensitive his cock now was and how plunging into the strange heat of his mate was driving him almost instantly over the edge. He felt himself growl and once again instinct kicked in. 

He drove himself deep inside the writhing wolf he had impaled and felt his flesh catch tight. Mycroft howled again and struggled. Greg bit the back of his neck hard, feeling his teeth sink in enough to draw blood. Mycroft howled again but this time it sounded low and throbbing. Suddenly that tight embrace was exponentially tighter and Greg was the one howling as Mycroft forced him to orgasm over and over again. Their singing was almost discordant but somehow blended together to form a vibrant harmony. An eternity later Greg was feverish and dazed when he finally slipped free.

Shakily Mycroft managed to get his mate up onto the bed before he licked him clean, his long hot tongue toothing Greg's ravaged flesh. When he was done Greg got up and cleaned himself off of his husband before curling up tight to him. Placing his head on Mycroft's the two new wolves fell asleep.


	5. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is such a nurturer and who needs it more than Sherlock?

John always spoiled Sherlock rotten the day after the full moon. He fussed over his lover right from the moment they woke up. He made Sherlock breakfast in bed, feeding him little bites. He made him tea on demand all through the day with little trays of assorted biscuits and sweets. He stayed naked because Sherlock liked the instant access it gave him when another heat came on him. This was the last day of it and the heats were less crazed but still impossible to resist.

After their second round of rolling in the bed in a sexual frenzy John ordered in all of Sherlock's favorite treats making the long lean man giggle as John insisted on feeding him again. They teased and played all through the day, happy and in love. Whenever Sherlock became demanding and feverish John gleefully abandoned everything to carry his lover back to bed. Once there John would help Sherlock sweat off every calorie he'd ingested.

They opted to spend their last evening as wolves. They didn't have to but Sherlock liked being knotted and John couldn't really come up with an argument against orgasms that lasted nearly an hour. He made very sure all the curtains were drawn and that the door was not only locked but that the deadbolt was employed. He would hate to imagine what would happen to any intruder when both wolves were mad with lust. They'd had to dispose of many sets of bloody sheets from the violence of their affections before John finally looked up how to clean them properly.

Sherlock absolutely loved being dominated and taken. It smoothed the chaos of his vast mind and made him calm and happy. The rougher John was the longer Sherlock's blissful frame of mind would last. John had worked it up to days now. By the time Sherlock's last wave was done they shifted back because the duvet had to be bagged up for replacement and one of the pillows had suffered an untimely demise. Sherlock couldn't keep the smile from his face as he lay face down on the bed bleeding softly while John took care of everything.

John fussed again. Sherlock practically purred as he was tended. John licked all the sore spots to seal them over, bandaging his lover up after soothing him with creams and plasters. John tested Sherlock's shoulder by palpating it gently. The detective winced but refused to stop smiling even though John had just a short while ago seemed seriously interested in dislocating it. John smiled down at that limp satisfied body beneath him. They might be wolves but after his heat Sherlock was more like a big cat.

John made dinner. Sherlock lay on the bed humming softly to himself as his body buzzed gently. His mind was racing faster than ever and he was delightfully lost in thought. He was going through Mother's memories once more, trying to make sense of the impressions she'd given him. Her knowledge was all experience but experience based on frames of view so lost to time they had almost no modern equivalent. The information was available but translating it into something useful was very difficult.

Sherlock was losing interest in taking cases. They were insignificant diversions compared to the monstrous puzzle he carried inside his mind. John was perfectly fine with that. Sherlock had an idea, a problem to solve and all the answers were buried inside Mother's memories. He went through them, trying to control the barrage of data that swirled around in unfamiliar patterns. Without Mother's living presence to guide it all of it was just endless centuries of raw data streamed together in provocative shapes and colors. Sherlock was learning by trial and error, sifting piece at a time until he had a slightly greater understanding than he had when he started the latest session.

Sherlock wanted to increase their population. They were only four, too small of a pack to survive the centuries together with certainty. His plan was extremely long term. Sherlock had no real interest in adding people to their inner circle but nonetheless he didn't want their rare species to become extinct. The problem was with the children he and Mycroft could potentially bear and their apparent inability to become werewolves. If Sherlock could figure out why, he could change that. Then the species could be literally reborn from their two bloodlines. He poked at the memories, trying to impose order on the chaos.

John was also humming happily as he cooked and tidied their home. Many things had become displaced in the wake of their hormone driven passions but John enjoyed resetting everything. It gave him a sense of completeness, a ritual he'd developed to accommodate Sherlock who frankly would let the flat rot before he would bother cleaning. It was part of caring for his eccentric mate and John was satisfied. John was born with the urge to care for people and Sherlock fulfilled that need so very well.

When he'd popped dinner in the oven and finished cleaning he filled a large bowl with warm water and collected a soft flannel and fresh towel. He set them beside the bed where Sherlock was still lounging and humming to himself, his eyes closed as he worked. John absolutely loved how his mate looked. Tenderly so as not to disturb him too much John washed Sherlock from head to toe. He eased pajamas onto him, only needed to adjust Sherlock a bit here and there to manage the awkward bits. Sherlock stayed lost in thought and John was proud of himself. He retreated softly.


	6. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much love!

Greg stretched, cracking his back and popping his joints. He felt pleasantly tired and infinitely content. He lay back on his pillows and felt Mycroft ease up to rest his head on his mate's broad chest. Long slim fingers trailed through the thick silver hair that softened the hard muscles and trailed downward over rippled muscles to end in a wild tangle between Greg's thighs. “I didn't think you'd have it in you for another round love.” said Greg softly. Mycroft turned his face up to his husband. Greg gasped. He'd never seen Mycroft so openly serene, so blatantly uninhibited, so fucking gorgeous. His speckled blue eyes were filled with a dreaminess Greg could not get enough of and when that slightly tousled mop of red curls moved back Greg could see that equally addictive length of creamy neck become exposed, just begging for him.

He bit. Hard. Mycroft shuddered but didn't protest. His fingers continued to calmly glide through Greg's chest hair. Licking at the blood Greg watched as his bite faded almost immediately but he felt he urge to speak, “Mycroft I promise to never stop loving you no matter what life throws at us. We survive together no matter the cost.”

Mycroft roused himself after feeling Gregory's words lay over him. His skin felt tighter and his fingers grasped hard, “Gregory I promise that my heart will always be entirely yours. We will do whatever we must to survive and I promise it will always be together.” Now Gregory was the one shivering. Suddenly a heat blossomed between them, different than the sexual frenzy they'd been in for the last three days. They'd already begun to hear one another's thoughts and had impressions of everything else. This was different, more. All their barriers finished falling away and both men suddenly became a single blended entity. Bonded.

It was dizzying. John and Sherlock hadn't mentioned anything like this. Maybe they hadn't gotten to it yet. They had told them a fair amount. Still. This was weird. Neither man could tell which one was doing the speaking or directing the thinking. They lay beside one another on the bed and heard the twin heart beats, could feel the blood rushing through the separate veins and arteries. Mycroft and Gregory were indistinguishable now. They tried on each other's flesh and laughed at how strange it felt. They switched back and forth moving arms and legs, thrusting hips and kissing one another with new lips. They agreed that this was something neither of their makers could have expected. This was far beyond the bond that John and Sherlock shared.

They explored each other's minds. Mycroft and Greg shared their entire lives worth of secrets and intimacies and felt their devotion to one another deepen. Even the things that made them twang with shame were soothed over, forgiveness exchange and souls healed. They saw the world in an entirely different way and came to the same conclusion together. They couldn't live their old lives any more. They let their bodies kiss and touch soothingly. They'd begin as soon as they spoke to their makers. Between the two of them Mycroft and Greg began planning how to live an eternity together.


	7. Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh those hard to resist instincts!

It was time to go see their pups. The heat was over and John managed to coax his mate into showering after dinner. He helped Sherlock dress in a smart suit and even knotted a tie under his chin just to see how long it took Sherlock to notice. He hated ties. John enjoyed his little jokes nearly as much as he enjoyed simply fawning over his beautiful lover. Sherlock barely said a word. He just hummed softly and kept thinking. John kissed his cheek softly before leading the taller man to the street.

The ride to Mycroft's house was pleasant. It was a warm day and John enjoyed the sun on his face. He held Sherlock's hands and finally felt those long fingers tighten around his. “John why am I wearing a tie?” John giggled as Sherlock undid it and stuffed into one of the many pockets on his Belstaff with a sniff. “Amusing.” he said dryly. John giggled again and Sherlock's fingers took his again and squeezed lightly.

“I love it when you're out of it like that. I can't wait till Christmas.” John had every intention of doing Sherlock up like a Christmas tree and kept that thought firmly in his own head. When they arrived John held the door open for his lover and escorted him to the door tenderly. It opened almost instantly.

“We could feel you arrive. How freaky is that?” said Mycroft. He blinked and said, “That was indeed odd. Come. We're waiting in the kitchen for you.”

John and Sherlock looked at each other. John looked concerned so they followed the elder Holmes into his vast home and into the kitchen. Greg was pouring wine into tall glasses. He looked up and said, “I think we should go to the living room my dear. It will be more suitable.” Greg blinked now and continued speaking, “I'm not bringing everything in myself. Grab your own glass or go dry.”

John and Sherlock peered closely at their pups. The transition was completed. They could sense something very different about the two of them. Their scent was strange. Mycroft had definitely been claimed by Greg who's scent was all over the taller man. The scent itself was so balanced it was hard to tell where Mycroft's started and where Greg's began. Sherlock and John smelled distinctively like themselves with heavy overtones of their lover as markers. This was very different.

“Brother.” said Greg, raising a glass. He blinked again and Mycroft spoke. “Brother. Something changed. Gregory and I seem to have...” he stopped speaking and Greg began, “become literally single minded. We're perfectly in tune...” Mycroft began again, “with one another. We know everything about one another as if...” Greg took up the sentence now, “we'd lived all of it ourselves.” Together, “It's incredible. It feels marvelous.”

John and Sherlock were stunned. The two men in front of them sat calmly, sipping their wine in unison, breathing at the same time and after a bit they blinked at the same time. Sherlock's mind went into overdrive. Without needing to ask the two men got up and stood as Sherlock examined them intently. John came over and subjected them to his own intense examination. He could feel Mycroft the way he could before but now John was even more aware of Greg. Asking Sherlock via their own connection Sherlock verified that he could feel his brother nearly as intently as he could feel Greg.

“Sit.” said John and both men sank gracefully into their sofa. This changed so much. John had expected to come back to find them bonded. He and Sherlock had bonded instinctively and even though Mother said it was rare Sherlock had found that most were wolf mates were taken from whatever was available due to their rarity and though they cared deeply for their life partners it wasn't often that it was a true love match. John and Sherlock loved one another and apparently so did Greg and Mycroft. A lot.

Sherlock's mind went over everything he was sensing from the two new wolves and sifted through some of Mother's memories. Something teased him and he chased after the vague thought shape. Grasping it he examined the information and understanding bloomed. This was a first for werewolves but explainable.

He quickly divulged his thoughts, “John and I were turned by sharing Mother's last bite. We are connected to Greg and Mycroft numerous ways, blood for one. Mycroft is my brother by blood. John and Greg are brothers through friendship, don't make that face John. You and Greg actually pub crawl with each other. Hideous. When John gave Mycroft venom he'd grown because of the venom he'd gotten from me when we changed he created a link that I unintentionally reinforced by changing Greg with essentially the same venom. When they forged the bond between themselves it was more complete than any bond that has ever existed! John, we made perfect werewolves our first try!”

John felt a surge of pride as his mate spoke. He looked at their pups and felt very proud of them for what they'd done. Their pack was already strong if somewhat lacking in members. Greg and Mycroft both sat straighter and wore small smiles as they felt their makers approval. Their dynamic had finished shifting and John felt comfortable knowing he was the Alpha to this pack. He looked at the pups just as Sherlock demanded that they shift so they could see what they looked like.

“Just think of doing it. Your body will understand. It gets easier every time you do it.” encouraged John. Greg and Mycroft shut their eyes and concentrated. Their bodies seemed to melt and a minute later the two wolves blinked their eyes open. John whistled appreciatively. They were gorgeous. He reached out for Sherlock and they shrugged themselves into their wolf forms in an instant. Sherlock sniffed both pups all over before padding to the side.

John stepped over and both of the new wolves lay flat on their bellies and extended their necks. John bit each one softly, just enough to shake them a bit and accept their submission to him. Now that they were all changed it was right and proper for him to assert his place as their alpha. John smelled their peculiar scent again. They were more the same as wolves then as men but they both seemed calm and tranquil. John admired their fur and their shapes, both pups preening as their alpha appreciated them.

Sherlock was a bit put out at how handsome a wolf his brother had become. Mycroft's tongue hung out in a wolfy laugh because his younger brother still looked shaggy and unkempt. He was about to tease Sherlock when John shushed him with a thought. “Sherlock is beautiful. He is my omega. You will respect him.” Mycroft's mouth snapped shut instantly and he looked chagrined. Greg did too. The days of older brother torment were over. Sherlock was John's and no one was going to do anything to hurt his mate. He'd spent too much of his odd lonely life being cut to pieces by random insults and John wasn't putting up with it any more. Days of his beloved being called a freak or anything else were over.

Sherlock came over and John nuzzled him tenderly. The alpha felt the waves of love coming off the taller animal, felt his head drape over his shoulders, careful of the the scarred side which was still weak even after the shift. John's scars were hidden beneath his fur but all of them were in the same places they were on his human body. The old wounds didn't trouble him the way they used to but they also didn't fade completely. John thought the ragged fur on his lover was heart achingly striking, that the wild locks were so much like his out of control curls it made John's soul want to sing. The ebony fur and the silver eyes were a devastating combination and when Sherlock walked he was sex on four legs. Magnificent.

Sherlock lifted his head and crooned out a call that John joined a moment later. Greg and Mycroft threw their heads back after a long minute and joined in. The long low howls melded together and became a powerful chorus. When it died away all four wolves blinked at one another and shifted back. Mycroft and Greg looked a little stunned and turned to face one another. “Gregory?” said Mycroft softly.

“Myc. I'm back in my own head. It feels strange now.” said the older man softly. Sherlock cocked his head at them curiously. He smelled carefully but their combined scent remained unchanged.

Mycroft looked over to his husband. “I wonder...” he said and suddenly they blinked in unison together. “Marvelous.” they said as one. Another blink and a shiver this time. “We can turn it off and on. How very useful.”

“Extraordinary!” exclaimed Sherlock. He was very pleased. His pack was strong, talented and handsome. So close to the end of his heat his thoughts mostly formed in wolf like patterns. Later in the month his old personality would become stronger and he would be the same irritating arse that he normally was. Right now he was more feral but just as brilliant. Only John's presence calmed him to the point where he was docile. “John I have an idea. Mycroft give me your hand.”

John understood immediately what his mate was about to do. He quirked his fingers and was privately amused at how quickly Sherlock's older brother jumped up from his seat to obey. Evidently Greg noticed and tried to smother an upset frown. John shot him a quick look and Lestrade ducked his head in apology. It wasn't up to him to decide how John made his orders. Mycroft stood in front of his brother. They simply looked at each other. A standoff. John did nothing.

Finally Mycroft slowly settled on his knees in front of Sherlock and extended his hand. “Thank you brother. Brace yourself. This will be a bit much.” Sherlock reached inside his mind palace and copied all the information there the way Mother had. As her most recent memory it was the skill that was the clearest so Sherlock had learned it immediately. He had never needed to do it though so it still felt strange to settle the mass of information into his brother. Mycroft gasped softly and reeled.

Greg was there in a flash to steady his husband. “What the fuck Sherlock! What did you do!” he demanded angrily. John snarled at him and Greg's mouth snapped shut though his furious grimace remained.

“Gregory. It's alright. I'm alright. Sherlock has given me a gift.” Mycroft shuddered from head to toe before sagging back into Greg's arms. He looked weak and dazed. He shut his eyes for several minutes. John petted Sherlock and comforted him as well. The younger man was paler than ever and barely able to sit up. John understood that the transfer had weakened his mate. They'd had no idea how taxing a transfer was. Mother must have used the last of her vital energy to complete it. Both brothers needed to rest.

The alpha's lay their mates out on the sofas. John went to make tea quickly while Greg watched over both of them. He was on edge and fearful so John sent calming thoughts to him. He hurried back as soon as the tea was ready. He helped Sherlock lean up against his chest while he held the tea for him. Mycroft sipped out of his own cup while Greg glanced at them then rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I do what I want.” said John. Sherlock smirked and lounged indolently against his lover.

“What did you do?” demanded Greg again. Mycroft reached out and took his husband's hand. Their eyes blinked and suddenly they were in unison again. They stayed that way for several minutes. Another blink and they were separate. “Holy fuck. How many centuries did she live! How many werewolves are there left? What was that bit about babies? Myc? You and Sherlock can have babies now?”

Mycroft hadn't obviously caught that little tidbit. His eyes widened in shock as the new memories in his head verified that fact. John grinned and winked at him. Mycroft flushed bright red. He was nearly squirming with excitement. Greg yanked the ginger haired man close and leered at him.

“It will be years before you can plant my brother Greg so keep it in your pants please. I'm trying to drink tea.” Sherlock sounded snippy. John laughed softly and rubbed his mate's flat belly suggestively. “John! I have a problem to solve before your paternal instincts get me up the duff. Control yourself pack master!”

“Problem?” asked Greg. His arm around Mycroft instantly became protective. “I need information here so one of you tell me something useful. Please.” Sherlock went over his goals, speaking them out fully for the first time though he had worked away at it for months now. As far as he was concerned all obstacles in his way were a mere challenge and Sherlock Holmes did not back down from a challenge like that.

John nodded thoughtfully. He didn't think it was likely that Sherlock would ever want to get to know anyone enough to make them a new pack member via their venom. He hated nearly everyone and had no problem treating people he especially disliked abominably. Most people found Sherlock intolerable in return. Perhaps if Mycroft and Greg started their own sub-pack somewhere else they could try but even then it wouldn't help them as a species. Sherlock was right. They needed to figure this out before they bore a child that would be lost to them all too soon. Mycroft closed his eyes and for a moment John could see his similarity to his otherwise disparate brother. Both of them had the same look in their faces when they were deep in thought. You could practically see the cogs turning behind those upper class eyelids.

“We need a lab. Qualified specialists. Time. Money. This requires secrecy at the utmost levels. I have it. Baskerville. We can overtake it easily enough, stop their current and rather distasteful experiments and subsume the entire facility for our own purposes. The specialists who already work there have already been excised from their previous existences. It's exactly what we need.” Mycroft sounded certain but John had his doubts.

“How do we manage the money? My locum income? What about the takeover. How do we manage that?” Mycroft smiled gently at John.

“I am the British Government, at least for now. I've had this particular plan in place since well before your unfortunate time there. The operation could be undertaken at any point and would be completely invisible from all other levels of government. The facility is funded through various dummy enterprises that I can easily acquire using my personal fortune. Give a raise packet to everyone and the takeover isn't even hostile. We'd be the new better bosses.” Mycroft looked pleased and John sent waves of appreciation to the couple.

Greg hugged Mycroft to him before helping him off the floor and back to their sofa. Sherlock continued to lounge so John kept giving him sips of tea. “We've been doing some thinking. I can also begin setting up alternate identities and lives for us. It would be prudent to plan several in advance. Once we move on it won't be so simple for me to fabricate four new people and insert them into the world. I can't predict us having much more time in our current lives. Gregory and I are both of an age where we should be looking substantially different in only a few years and we won't.

Mycroft was seven years older than Sherlock and Greg was five years older than that. They'd have two or three years at most before it would become necessary to end their lives somehow and begin fresh somewhere else. Greg looked over to Mycroft. “It will be enough time to wrap everything up and get ready. I don't care where we are. You know that.” Mycroft nodded at his husband. Together, that's all that mattered.

“Sherlock and I will have a bit longer if necessary but not much more. I've always looked middle aged but people are going to notice if Sherlock never grays or wrinkles. Even now it's a bit strange. How does any man of forty not have a single wrinkle?” John kissed his lover who pouted. He was still a bit touchy about that whole subject. He looked like a man half his age and sometimes it got annoying. He felt people didn't take him seriously. John didn't seem to mind so once again Sherlock didn't complain though he wanted to.

“We have a large amount of equity to deal with then brother. Our estates are far flung. We will need to deal with all of that subtly. Between the two of us we are very well situated financially but shifting that amount of money won't be easy to keep discrete.

“Inheritance.” said Greg. Everyone looked at him. “Hire someone to be the recipient of all your everything. They get to live a life of absolute luxury on the provision that they pass that inheritance along to the next designated person. You'd only need one or two before enough time passes that you can inherit it all back to yourselves. It would be easier than just selling everything and trying to deal with a butt load of cash and no history. You could set up a system like that easy Myc. You practically do that for fun.”

“Anthea.” said John. He looked at Mycroft. “She'd be ideal. She's intelligent, quick witted. We could make her this offer. She could continue to be a very valuable resource for us and later on we can even discuss turning her. Later on of course. She'll need to stay human for several more years to be useful to us but I don't want her to die of old age as a reward. I think she'd make a fine wolf.”

“I would actually like to have a wedding before we die if no one minds.” said Sherlock petulantly. He waved his engagement finger around extravagantly. “I'm not the most demonstrative man in the world but it would be nice for the records to show that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes did indeed wed, even if we don't get to stay married for long.”

John loved the way Sherlock was childish about things that meant a lot to him. He hid his feelings with biting comments, sarcasm and coldness. Now that John had the Rosetta Stone of Holmes in his head he could easily see that Sherlock was very proud that John had asked him to marry and wanted as many people as possible to know that someone loved him. It was sweet and adorable. Sherlock blushed faintly when he realized John had read so much into his flip statement.

“Certainly brother. I can arrange everything with ease. Do you want a big wedding or a small one?” Mycroft sounded solicitous as always but both wolves saw the amusement in his body set. Sherlock deigned to ignore it.

“Small.” they both said at once and laughed. They didn't have many close friends and their families were even smaller. Though Mycroft and Sherlock had endless amounts of distant cousins they weren't closer to their family than they had to be. Even if they invited every single person they liked the wedding wouldn't be large. Sherlock was also fairly skittish in large groups. His timidity was offset by his otherwise abrasive brashness but in certain circumstances Sherlock was still as difficult to handle as the wildest animal. Put him in a crowd too big and you were going to discover exactly how many people he could offend simultaneously.

“When?” Mycroft asked. He patted his pockets before Greg got up and left the room. He returned with Mycroft's mobile. They exchanged glances and nudges as Mycroft turned it on and began taking notes.

“Soon as possible. Nothing too fancy. Feel free to tell the press after the fact.” John stated. The wedding didn't have to be big but the whole point was for everyone to know about it. Mycroft had already assisted John in acquiring wedding bands which John had planned on surprising Sherlock with. John felt Sherlock grow content as his need for positive attention was once again tended.

“We have those lovely new suits at home John. We could do it tomorrow if Mycroft is even remotely competent.” Sherlock gazed out the window nonchalantly. John felt his mate's body quiver beside his with nervous tension. Sherlock smelled nervous and uncertain. He wanted so badly to unite with John in as many ways as possible and irrationally feared being rejected or ridiculed.

Sherlock had made a request and John only had one response to that. “Whatever you want darling. Mycroft?” Sherlock's scent changed instantly. He smelled pleased and tender now. He knew John had understood his insecurities and like always had risen to the challenge and soothed his fractious mate easily. They were going to get married.

“That soon brother? Surely you want more time to prepare appropriately?” began Mycroft but Sherlock just snapped.

“Prepare what? We'll say our vows. We have no close friends really, either of you would do for a witness and after a modest announcement in the media everyone will know. What else would I wish for?” John was relieved. He loved his mate dearly but didn't exactly love the idea of a wedding anything like the one Mycroft and Greg had. It seemed like half the planet had attended. Both John and Sherlock had used the vastness of the crowd to disappear and leave for home the second they could.

“Keep it simple Mycroft. We want to be married not be your centerpieces for wedding of the year. Get it done. Now.” said John calmly. Mycroft capitulated then and went back to working on his phone while Greg glared at his shoes. “Problem Lestrade?”

The DI looked up. He looked angry. “I don't like you bossing my husband around. It feels wrong. I'm sorry John. I can't help how I feel.” John's lip curled up. He'd been expecting this. Sherlock stilled beside him and the dark haired omega looked over at his mate's face.

“John?” rumbled Sherlock softly. He'd twisted out of John's arms to sit up. Since he was no longer cradling the soothing weight of his lover John stood right up and stared down at Greg, his lip still curled. Mycroft dropped his phone. He picked it up and looked back and forth between the two alphas. Sherlock repeated, “John?”

Now Greg stood. He was taller than John and looked down at the shorter man challengingly. Greg out-massed John by a fair amount as well. Sherlock looked alarmed as did Mycroft. Both alphas squared off neatly. “There can only be one pack master Greg. You may not like it but there it is. There's exactly one way to settle this so think carefully before you decide.” John wasn't afraid. Sherlock tested the air and although the aggression level had spiked dramatically in the last few minutes John smelled perfectly at ease. He was a soldier after all. Every bit of him. Sherlock smiled and lounged back.

Greg felt confident. He didn't survive this long working the ugly end of London crime by being a slouch. He was strong and full of tricks. He was used to taking down criminals in every sort of condition so the prospect of overwhelming the small mild doctor was not unappealing. Mycroft was HIS omega. No one should tell Mycroft what to do. Especially a younger someone with a trick shoulder and a bad hip. It would be so much better if Mycroft and Greg were the pack leaders.

Greg didn't realize that John could read every single intention as if Lestrade had been shouting them out the entire time. He allowed the DI time to work himself up to the attack. When Greg shifted to his wolf form and lunged John simply shrugged himself into his and slammed the stunned wolf right to the floor. The fight was savage. With snarls and yelps both wolves snapped and tumbled all over the room. Greg was relentless in his attacks but John matched him move for move.

Greg bit and snapped. He tried to savage the tender parts of John's body but every time he made a move he was rewarded with slashing teeth and the feel of his own blood running hotly over his fur. He could feel ragged tears on his neck, along his ribs, all over his back. Greg threw himself into trying to distract the blond wolf enough to expose a weak point but John was implacable. He blocked and attacked with almost careless ease. John seemed to be teasing the DI which enraged the older man.

Greg went insane and attacked John with greater ferocity. He wanted to dominate the smaller wolf and take his place as pack master. John didn't even seem concerned. He seemed amused! Greg was going to rip him to shreds. Before he could move again John had Greg in his jaws. The blond wolf closed off Greg's airway with slow deliberation until the silver wolf shuddered all over before giving in. John dropped him in front of a stunned Mycroft who was still clutching his phone. “Gregory! My god!” gasped the stunned civil servant. He turned his trichromatic eyes to the pack master.

John wasn't even upset. He shrugged back into his human form the second Greg did. He even knelt down and checked out some of the more severe bite marks on the larger man gently. “He'll be fine Mycroft. It's okay. He couldn't help it. He needed to defend you. It won't happen again now that we've gotten it sorted. He did very well. These will be all gone tomorrow.”

Greg looked dazed. Mycroft got him up onto the sofa and was checking him out thoroughly. Sherlock was doing the same to John, swarming over him intently. John was barely touched and he could feel his mate's growing pride as his minor wounds testified to his martial skills. Greg had never stood a chance. Mycroft was visibly upset even though he said and did nothing. He tried to avoid looking at John but had no problems shooting angry glances at his little brother. Sherlock finally took the bait. “Brother. If you have something kind of remark to make, please make it. Your histrionic displays are annoying me.”

John suppressed a chuckle. Mycroft was hardly hysterical. “I should very much like to know what just happened. Gregory is bleeding all over our sofa and neither of you seem concerned.” Now John felt a little bad. He was there to protect his pack, not make them upset or feel the beginnings of fear.

He explained quickly, “Greg was driven to challenge me for leadership because I've been ordering you around. You're an omega in my pack but you are not my mate. You have lesser status than Sherlock and Greg couldn't deal with that. His instinct was to take over and give you pride of place. He loves you Mycroft but it was never going to happen. Greg will never be able to beat me in battle. He's simply not that kind of wolf. He did really well though. Look, I'm bleeding in three different places.” Mycroft actually looked somewhat mollified. Though Greg had several wounds on him John had kept everything as mild as possible considering the circumstance. John knew very well that a serious attack would have left them minus a wolf as well as an inconsolable omega on their hands for eternity.

John went to get his medical kit but after they cleaned Greg up they discovered that most of his wounds had vanished, leaving only streaks of blood behind. “Interesting. We've never been seriously injured so I wasn't sure how long it would take to heal a real injury beyond cuts and scratches.” Sherlock went over Greg along with John, both of them sharing their particular points of view.

Their bond wasn't the same as Greg and Mycroft who blended together perfectly. John and Sherlock were more like cogs in the same machine, each part fitting together perfectly with the other until it ran smooth and flawlessly. John observed with his soldier and doctor eyes while Sherlock utilized every skill he'd perfected over his life to note every detail almost instantly. “It took less than three full minutes to have everything disappear. John you barely came back from getting your kit. If you hadn't ruined his clothes we wouldn't even know anything had happened.”

“So. Everyone is just going to stare at my naked body all day or do I get to get dressed at some point.” asked Greg after awhile. Nearly every stitch had been removed everything but his pants when checking his multitude of wounds. He was being intently inspected by everyone now. John gave him a wry smile and let the wolf sit up properly. Sherlock made a disgruntled sound but flung himself back onto the other sofa and immediately disappeared into his mind palace. Mycroft helped his husband up and back to their bedroom to wash up and redress.


	8. Conductor of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a problem that requires a solution. He's been working on it for ages and has come so close to resolution but John once again provides what Sherlock needs.

Three weeks later Sherlock was sweeping down the side streets of London, lost in thought and not paying attention to the world that swirled around him. John paced behind him, keeping an eye on his distracted mate but also not getting in the way. Sherlock was close to a breakthrough and he needed to keep moving. Half-way down an alley Sherlock stopped for a minute to lean against the wall. He needed to sit and think. The idea was almost deciphered. Now Sherlock needed time to sort it out properly. “Take me home John.” he rumbled. John nodded, took Sherlock's hand and led him back to the street. After a bit of difficulty he managed to flag a taxi to return them to Baker Street.

Sherlock hadn't spoken much in the last few days. Once their heat had been over Sherlock had become even more withdrawn than normal, not even taking time to talk to Mycroft or Greg about anything. John phoned Greg who privately admitted to John that Mycroft was equally silent. “They're coming up with something. I can feel it. Myc and I haven't blended together since the challenge. I don't know what's going on in that head of his. I mean, I can see it. I just don't understand it.”

Greg and Mycroft's bond was intriguing. Not only could they blend together at will but they could instigate the shift or refuse it. Mycroft refused it and had since he began to untangle Mother's memories. “Sherlock's nearly stopped eating. He refuses to become distracted.” worried John.

“Myc's the same. I've barely gotten a cup of tea in him for two days now. He's called off work, dumped everything on Anthea for the foreseeable future. I don't know what they're up to.” The Holmes brothers were their own species of intelligent. They were incomparable. Both of them were attacking this issue with all their personal resources. As similar as they were they both thought in very different ways. They barely needed to speak with one another. Entire conversations could be held between them with only a twitch of a brow or a quirk of their elegant mouths.

“They're on a trail that's for sure. Myc and Sherlock have been texting back and forth but I don't understand most of what they're talking about. It's a lot of formulas and math symbols.” Greg sounded frustrated. He was still on sick leave so being at home with no one but an unresponsive mate probably wasn't very exciting, even if they were both wolves now.

“What about Baskerville?” questioned John. Sherlock was now sitting on the sofa, fingers tented under his chin, eyes closed but still darting back and forth as Sherlock worked out his problem.

Greg sounded a little more definite now, “According to Myc the takeover is going to happen early next week. He's laying groundwork, or rather, Anthea is.” Mycroft very seldom employed financial clout. He seldom needed to. His victories were counted by outwitting his adversary just as Sherlock's were counted by the incarceration or death of his. Baskerville was a special situation though. The current work being done there now was atrocious and they needed the facility. If Mycroft was willing to bring the swollen Holmes fortune into play then John was willing to accept it. “I've already started the paperwork to retire early, medical release. I'll need your signature.”

“No problem Greg. Bring the paperwork by the flat next time you come round.” John ended the call and went about making dinner. Sherlock needed to eat. An hour later John was spooning a piping hot stir fry onto plates. He barked out a cough and was rewarded by the sound of Sherlock moving to the table. His mate opened his mouth to protest but John just looked at him. Sherlock's mouth closed. “Eat. The whole plate. All of it.”

John didn't often force his will on his mate. He didn't like to. Sherlock's wild rhythms and habits were part of who he was and John loved those qualities. However, if Sherlock planned on following his rule of not eating during cases while working on this problem he would die of starvation before he solved it. Sherlock knew this very well so he didn't shame himself by fighting the order. Obediently he began to eat his dinner neatly.

“You're doing good Sherlock. I'm very pleased. Look, I mixed in all the bits you like.” John smiled over at his lover. Sherlock looked up, eyes glazing over. His fork dropped to the plate and he gasped.

“John. You're brilliant. Just brilliant! That's it!” Sherlock pushed himself away from the table, grabbed his phone up and began to text as fast as he could. Standing hunched over it Sherlock almost jumped in the air when it chimed back an answer, replying in a flurry of fingers once more. “Yes!”

“What! What did I say?” John reached towards Sherlock's mind. His mate was wild with excitement. His mind felt triumphant.

“Mixing in the bits we like. Gene manipulation. We can remove the weaknesses in true born children in utero. It's so simple!” Sherlock threw his arms around John and kissed him soundly. “We can have children John. Babies that will live forever with us. I'm almost ripe.”

Sherlock held John up. John's legs weren't working. Children. The idea had been in the background of his mind because Sherlock had been working on this problem since he first received Mother's memories. Now though, just knowing that the impossible had once again become very possible he was momentarily overwhelmed with the idea of it all. A child. A baby made up of John and Sherlock together. Maybe more than one even. Multiples. Pregnant Sherlock. Papa John. “We have to get Baskerville ready as soon as Mycroft can manage. Call your brother Sherlock. We have plans to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working out some twists and turns here. Hopefully the pace will pick up accordingly and my muse will be unleashed.


	9. It's All In The Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are really starting to happen. Plans are being made and decisions as well. They know what they want, now they just need to go out and get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so smutty this chapter but still covering necessary developments. I received a wonderful suggestion from leobutler (thanks doll) and since it worked so nicely with this chapter I did a bit of tweaking and have some new ideas in the works for the rest. Coffee. As always, coffee is mandatory.

Mycroft and Greg were sorting out details. They worked together flawlessly of course, their natural talents blending together to make them incredibly efficient. They now had several projects going at the same time and each man stepped back and forth across the large room that used to be Mycroft's den. John and Sherlock were on their way over and Mycroft was like an arrow that had been released. Anthea would be making an appearance later that day as well and there was so much to do.

Baskerville. Nearly everything was ready to take possession of the unsuspecting facility. Mycroft's people had already begun to move into position and as soon as all was ready the whole process would finish swiftly. It required the utmost subtlety and Greg was impressed with the layers of intrigue that Mycroft assumed effortlessly to mask his trail. If anyone did care to look into what happened to the place they would be sent on a wild goose chase around the globe tracking one lead after another before ending exactly nowhere.

Their replacement identities. In a day and age where technological securities closed the net tighter and tighter it would eventually become nearly impossible to simply vanish and reappear elsewhere as different people. Still, both Mycroft and Greg were fully aware of how very possible it was to use the system against itself if you knew exactly where to look. Greg had dedicated his life to finding people who slipped between the cracks in the law and Mycroft had spent his life making sure people like Greg found nothing. Paired together they were able to work everything out seamlessly.

The reception. John and Sherlock had gotten married quietly with only Mrs Hudson in attendance. They hadn't even told Greg and Mycroft that they were popping out the next morning. They'd just gotten up, gotten dressed like normal, picked up their landlady and gone to get married and pick up groceries. Mycroft was very offended. “You could have waited four more hours! I had someone coming over to officiate. How did you get it done so fast?”

“Sherlock knew someone appropriate who owed him a favor.” said John with a smirk. Sherlock's list of people who owed him favors never seemed to end. For someone who bragged about their sociopathic tendencies Sherlock had apparently spent a lot of time in his pre-John days helping people and not asking anything for it. In the long run it had paid off. Mrs Hudson was essential to their happiness. Eating at Angelo's restaurant was always a delight. The homeless network was a masterpiece of endless information. Of course somewhere along the line Sherlock had helped an elderly gentleman who just happened to work at the Registry Office. One phone call was all it took.

Mycroft sullenly offered to organize and host their reception since he hadn't gotten to see them get married. Now safely wed Sherlock felt better about allowing people to finally view the couple in a more public way. They'd kept out of the limelight as much as possible in the last few years but Sherlock and John were still well known enough that a reception was demanded so their nearest and dearest could toast their union. The end of the month meant it was time for their respective heats to return. They'd allowed time for it to run its course before moving their attentions to Baskerville.

All their plans worked together. The reception provided all of them the cover they needed for the activity they were undertaking. Baskerville would be theirs before the reception where Sherlock could show off his wedding ring. John and Sherlock would meet Anthea at the facility with Greg and Mycroft after the party and all four of them would begin to rework the entire facility to meet their needs. Sherlock wanted children and John wanted Sherlock to be happy. It was a strange wedding present but then it would really have to be.

The last part of the plan came later. Mycroft was going to retire with Greg. Greg's paperwork was being processed already, his honorable departure from NSY was for health reasons. Everyone knew he'd had cancer and was for all intents and purposes only temporarily on the mend. Greg could feign a relapse at any time needed with John there to provide sober medical corroboration. Mycroft was gracefully bowing out of his hard earned job as a minor official in the British Government, ostensibly to remain by his husband's side during his last tentative days. News of The Iceman retiring for such a sentimental reason had caused much chatter in discrete circles. What the public knew was that the DI would be going on a respite with Mycroft after the wedding reception, thereby providing the couple their own plausible deniability.

Anthea. She was crucial to their plans. This afternoon was an important one. Once Sherlock and Mycroft explained their news to John and Greg they needed to update Anthea about everything. She knew there was more to what Mycroft was telling her when explained his unexpected retirement. There was always more when you dealt with Mycroft Holmes. Still the PA hadn't questioned anything. She'd simply gotten on with her tasks the way she always did, phone in hand, cool and efficient. Anthea's ability to multi-task was astounding. Mycroft had found her indispensable over the years and felt warm affection for her, like a little sister, a sibling he didn't want to punch in the face half the time. It was nice.

They felt their maker's arrive. John's presence was especially forceful. Both Greg and Mycroft felt the need to turn politely and greet their Alpha as he walked through the door, Sherlock in tow. “Gene manipulation! Did you get the information I needed?” the taller man demanded. Mycroft nodded and indicated a laptop he had set on the desk. Sherlock went right over and soon John and Greg were sitting on a sofa watching the brothers work something out.

“I went to medical school and I recognize only half the words they're using and none of the context.” remarked John. It didn't help that Sherlock and Mycroft were speaking to one another as they always did, jumping from one idea to the next in wild leaps of flawless logic, unencumbered by the need to explain themselves in any detail to the other. Long used to one another the brothers began making complex notations. They argued back and forth politely with one another but kept working as if nothing else in the world mattered. Greg shrugged his shoulders and dragged out a different laptop, this one with the reception party plans on it. “Oh god. Do I have to?” moaned John. Greg laughed.

“Oh mighty leader, are you scared of napkins and food options?” John covered his face with his hands and Greg laughed again. “Look John, we don't speak Holmes and we can't contribute anything to the braining that's going on over there. What we can do is make sure your drunken sister doesn't sit next to my drunken cousin and things will be just fine. Come on. We have all kinds of fun things to decide.”

It was dreadful. John threw wistful glances at Sherlock who was so focused on what he was doing he hadn't looked at John once since they'd arrived. Greg was good at marshaling though and with a long list in hand made John say yes or no to all the options. “I know it doesn't seem like it matters John but yes, you do have to feed people when they come to your reception. Just decide if you want a live band or no and get on with it!”

“How many people are coming to this thing anyway?” demanded John. Between the two of them he and Sherlock didn't have a huge list of friends and acquaintances. He looked at the list suspiciously. “Greg there are nearly four hundred names on this list and I only recognize about fifty of them. Who are these people?”

“We're rolling our retirement party in with your reception. We'll all go out together. Sherlock shouldn't mind. All he wants is for everyone to know he finally got married and this way there will be even more people to tell.” Greg was calmly ticking off the last answer on his spreadsheet. John felt weird, like he was planning a wedding except that he was already married.

“I feel like I should be cross about this. Why didn't you tell me?” John looked over at Greg who looked back at him, exasperated. The older man looked tired and a bit put out.

“Look John, we've been working our arses off getting all of this worked out. We've tried to keep you up on everything but there's quite a bit, it's all happening really fast and if I had the time to tell you about each and every thing we do then I won't have time to do anything. You don't even care about the reception, not really, but we have to plan it. Come on pack master, this is our big getaway.” Now John felt more than ever that he should be cross about having to do this because Greg was completely correct. Perhaps planning the reception wasn't as ego gratifying as bioengineering a nearly extinct species but it was very important. Taking a deep breath he nodded and Greg read off the next option.

Ages went by while they slogged through everything. John was feeling quite irate as their wedding reception plans finally came to some sort of conclusion. By the time Anthea finally arrived John was thoroughly regretting agreeing to have one at all. The brothers snapped out of their discourse when the PA arrived and Mycroft went over to greet her.

Anthea was a marvel. Calmly she updated Mycroft on the current status of all their projects and ended with her regrets that Mycroft was retiring so early. He would still remain even further behind the scenes for a while but it wouldn't be the same relationship at all. The role Anthea was assuming was too demanding. “It can't be helped Anthea. Before we can get to the next stage of my plans we need to discuss a piece of information that you need to be privy to.”

Mycroft stood there as if they were discussing the stock market or the latest economic crisis and told Anthea about werewolves. Her expression didn't change even slightly, not even when Sherlock shifted for her. Mycroft smelled pleased with his protégé and simply continued with his discussion as if declaring yourself to be a mythological creature were no different that deciding where his newest suit should come from. Mycroft quickly detailed the problem they were working on and Anthea finally spoke. “Baskerville. Their gene manipulation experiments are highly successful if somewhat questionable. I've appointed a new projects manager, currently on standby, who will be able to work with you both.”

Mycroft then went over the issue of their identities. Once again Anthea didn't bat an eye. She made some small notations. “We can begin to lay in the groundwork now, I'll arrange for packages to be delivered before the reception. If anything goes wrong with the new facility you'll need to be able to bolt and run.” Anthea stood there in her neat dress suit and heels typing calmly into her mobile.

Finally she looked up, finally seeing John watching her. “Sir?” she questioned.

“You aren't surprised. You aren't afraid. You are standing in a room filled with werewolves and you're calm as ice.” John sounded faintly admiring but also questioning.

Anthea stood silent for a moment, looking for the first time as if she were puzzled. “It's my job to not be surprised, to deal with the unexpected and to handle difficult situations. I am a highly trained operative and would be very pleased with the physical challenge of a werewolf attack just to test my skills. I humbly submit that I could at least leave my mark before I was overcome. For the rest, I enjoy my work and I've been well compensated for it. Mr Holmes has been an exceptional employer as well as mentor and because of him I will shortly become one of the most powerful people in the country with the added luxury of being able to pop round to my local for a drink because nobody knows who I really am. What is there to fear?”

Mycroft smelled proud as he cut his eyes towards the Alpha. Anthea glanced back and forth between the two of them, her eyes widening a bit for the first time. She looked at Mycroft who gave a little shrug. “It's a wolf thing.” he said, dismissing the change in hierarchy. Anthea nodded and adjusted accordingly. She began directing her comments and updates to John. Now Sherlock sidled over. He placed his arm covetously around John's shoulders but Anthea didn't react in any other way than to also include Sherlock in her report. Sherlock gradually relaxed but stayed put as everyone listened to the update in their complex plan.

Finally Greg interrupted. “We've been standing here for an hour. Can we take three steps back and sit on the furniture that's going unused?” They made themselves comfortable, laptops set out, Anthea's mobile firmly in hand. John got up eventually and left. He came back a short time later with a large platter filled with tea and sandwiches. Sherlock jumped up and fussed around, trying to help but mostly getting in the way before John settled him with a kiss.

They ended up working late into the night. It seemed like they had no time anymore. Their old lives were going to end almost before they had really begun. The reception now marked a key-point in their personal time-lines, that moment of flux when everything shifted and changed forever. At the end of the night their discussions wound down. The sandwiches had been replenished more than once and the tea had flowed continuously. John sat back and took Sherlock's hand before looking at Anthea.

“We have an offer to make you, one that will take time before we can honor but we will if you agree.” Anthea looked attentive. John nodded at Mycroft who took over the thread.

The tall man leaned forward and began speaking in a soft gentle voice, “Anthea, I have placed a great deal of responsibility on you. I have faith that you can easily bear this burden. You have never failed me. I wish to make you our heir, to take control of the portion of the Holmes empire to which Sherlock and I are entitled. During the course of your lifetime you may do as you wish with it, as it really will be yours. However, you must pass it along to an heir of our choosing or directly back to Sherlock or myself. As a reward for this great service we offer to change you, if you so choose, at the time of your choosing provided you remain human long enough to complete your ongoing tasks for me.”

Now Anthea looked thoughtful. “Can I see you?” Everyone looked around. John nodded and suddenly Anthea was standing next two four very different looking wolves. Mycroft padded close to her, his head nearly at her waist even standing. They'd never really considered how large they were as animals but they really were. Mycroft sat down and looked up at her. Tilting his head ever so slightly he gave her permission to touch. Anthea reached out a steady hand and stroked the fur behind his ear gently before dropping her hand. Mycroft stepped back and all of them shifted again. “You all look very different.”

Sherlock heard the curiosity in her voice and finally warmed up to her. “There are many degrees to being a wolf. You wouldn't necessarily need to join our pack but I'm sure you would be welcome. I would think though that at the end of your working life you would want to lead your own pack. We are four. We could change more than one person.” Canny Sherlock. He'd seen something in Anthea's face.

“There is one. I haven't had the chance to explore it but now I will. They have been very understanding of my time.” Tacit acceptance of the offer was all that was required. Anthea would be their heir and eventually become a werewolf. The offer to change her and three others was complete.

“It can't be soon. Sherlock and I require time to recover from making Mycroft and Greg. They won't be able to change anyone for at least a year.” Anthea nodded and stood once again. She looked around at everyone one last time and then left for the night without a word. “She's an amazing person.”

“She really is. Worthy.” Mycroft was very proud of Anthea and everyone could tell. Greg bumped his husband's hip with his and Mycroft simply bumped back.

“I don't know about the rest of you but I'm ready to pack it in until tomorrow.” said John. He looked tired. Of course Mycroft and Sherlock could go forever but Greg nodded agreeably. “Till tomorrow then.”

“What shall we do tonight?” asked Sherlock who was already playing with his own mobile, looking up information.

“What we do every night Pinky. Try to take over the world!” quipped John dramatically. Sherlock and Mycroft stood there with identical expressions of puzzlement on their faces. Greg laughed so hard he flopped over on the couch. He and John launched into a rendition of the cartoon theme song before slapping each other on the back to say goodnight. “Come along Pinky. Time to go home.”

Anthea had arranged a car for them. John had the driver stop on the way home to pick up something hot for a late dinner. “John let's go for a walk after we eat. It's a nice night.” After hours of sitting and planning this idea appealed to John a lot. With a wink and a smile Sherlock sat at the table while John fussed with the meal, laying everything out and pouring them two glasses of wine before finally seating himself. Sherlock reached out and squeezed John's hand. “I love you John. Today was a big day.”

“I love you too darling. Eat up while it's hot.” Sherlock smiled and began his meal without fighting about it. That relaxed John even more and with a happy smile he began to eat. They idly chatted about the major points of their respective day but finally agreed to just let the plans sit as they were for now. They needed a break.

After clearing everything away they helped one another into their coats. John teased Sherlock by flipping his collar up for him just as the detective was reaching for it. Sherlock rolled his eyes and flushed a bit. John ran a thumb over the high cheek bones he loved so much before taking Sherlock's hand. Leading his husband downstairs they entered the night and began to stroll.

Since they changed night time walks had become a regular occurrence. The night appealed to both men now that their senses had expanded so much. The sights and sounds of night time London had brand new allure and they spent many hours trailing through the shadows hand in hand. Tonight they walked through the park, not talking, just enjoying the feel of the breeze and the sound of the branches swaying. John liked the way the paleness of Sherlock's skin caught the light and Sherlock liked how John moved almost silently, his body always at ease.

Sherlock's thumb caressed John's and soon their arms were linked as they strolled. The paths wound around but Sherlock wanted to enjoy more of the darkness so he pulled John into the bushes where they giggled and fumbled at one another. “We're going to get caught one of these days.” said John as Sherlock's hand found it's way beneath the waist of John's pants.

“That's what you said at the Tube, at the library, at the theater, the bookstore, the...” whispered Sherlock between kisses. His voyeuristic streak was one that John enjoyed. Sherlock's natural shyness which he normally masked with rudeness played out in their love life as well. Sherlock would be horrified to be discovered, to be seen, by some stranger while in the middle of their love play but that's what made these little adventures so hot. Sherlock's naughty little kink. John loved it.

Sherlock's hands wandered while John kissed him. Trailing his lips down that strong jaw and along that ivory column of neck John took in the scent and taste of Sherlock. It was complex, layered. Almost floral but with deep dark tones, sweet and bitter at the same time. The breeze played with them, whisking back and forth. John could smell the grass of the lawns, the mulch in the flower beds, the branches around them. John reveled in the smell of Sherlock, their arousal intensifying as they scented one another. The full moon was a week away and Sherlock's smell was already beginning to grow more enticing than ever.

Both men were moaning softly even as they laughed quietly together, their hands and mouths teasing and pleasuring each other. Hands moved in unison, breaths caught raggedly and eventually Sherlock's deep voice whispered, “Please. Now. Please.” as he quietly begged for release. John bit at Sherlock's neck and felt his lover shudder even as his hand filled with spurts of hot seed. His own release was quick and savage, his groan barely suppressed as he buried his face even harder against Sherlock's neck.

A few minutes of silence before the quiet giggles resumed. Cleaning themselves up with the wet-wipes John always kept in Sherlock's coat pocket they made their way discretely back onto the lit pathways and wandered their way back home. They got to the end of Baker street when a new scent assailed their noses. It was bitter and dark, almost rank. There was a thick overlaying haze of pheromones. Arousal. The scent came from the curb at the end of Baker Street and ended right at their door. A suspicious looking damp spot that reeked of ammonia was on the bottom step of their stoop. The scent trail ended at the curb a few steps further up the street. John and Sherlock looked at each other. There was a strange wolf in London and it knew where they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ending this storyline here but THE STORY IS NOT OVER!
> 
> Calm yourselves. The twists and turns will be mighty, I promise you. The next installment of this series is already in the works and will be posted ASAP. Expect hotness. Expect gasps, groans, fights and all kinds of excitement. I'm all over it.
> 
> Follow along with the next installment "Bloodlines"


End file.
